


neat freak

by nebulousviolet



Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: (Ish) - Freeform, Canon Compliant, Drabble, Family Dynamics, Gen, Missing Scene, about izzy sacrificing her adolescence for alec's sake, cleaning as a metaphor for love, more on alec and izzy and their complex relationship babey, once again i am referencing the throwaway line in cog, set pre-CoFA post CoG, stress-cleaning jace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27182660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebulousviolet/pseuds/nebulousviolet
Summary: “By definition, I don’t think that there’s such a thing as a good megalomaniac,” Alec contributes, but he’s thinking about how Isabelle, who is morally opposed to the concept of organisation, is letting Jace impose his anal system of cataloging upon her just to distract him from his nervousness.
Relationships: Alec Lightwood & Isabelle Lightwood, Alec Lightwood & Isabelle Lightwood & Jace Wayland, Isabelle Lightwood & Jace Wayland
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	neat freak

**Author's Note:**

> i have lightwood brainrot i'm so sorry  
> set in that weird twilight era between CoG and CoFA and also before TRSOM because that's a Thing now. sigh. oh well it's not like i played nicely with continuity anyway lol

“I need to talk to you,” Alec says, and then surveys the scene before him with a slightly open mouth.

Isabelle’s bedroom is usually characterised by the sheer chaos within: hand-painted walls, piles of clothes, books and magazines that are left half-open and discarded next to pots of makeup and eclectic pieces of jewellery that Robert buys her as a substitute for difficult conversations. Alec is so used to it that the sight of her floor, now visible for what must be the first time in years, physically stuns him. “What the-”   
“Jace is stress-cleaning,” Isabelle says brightly, as Jace makes a noise of discontent. He’s staring into her closet as if the dresses inside have personally offended him, and Isabelle is surveying his distress with thinly-veiled glee as she stretches out on her bed, laid out on her stomach. “But there’s nothing left in his room to be cleaned because he’s a neat freak, so I generously offered him mine.”   
“You just want to see me suffer,” Jace says, as he picks up a clotheshanger and waves it around for emphasis.

“Yeah,” Isabelle agrees, easy. On principle, Isabelle has never been any good at denial. She glances over at Alec. “Anyway, what did you want?”

The words stick in Alec’s throat and die there. “I forgot,” he says lamely. Isabelle’s eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline, but she’s acquired a shred of tact in her old age; she doesn’t press it.

“Sure,” she drags the word out, then flicks her attention back to Jace, who is now attempting to arrange Isabelle’s dresses in colour order. “Be careful with the red minidress,” she demands, and Jace gives her an incredulous look.

“ _ Half _ of them are red minidresses,” he says.

“I said what I said,” Isabelle shrugs. “Also, you’d better hurry up if you want to make it to Taki’s on time.”   
  
“Taki’s?” Alec frowns.

“Jace has a  _ date _ ,” Isabelle sing-songs. “Why else do you think there’s fear-sweat all over my carpet?”   
“Take that back right now,” Jace squarks. “Jace Lightwood does not  _ fear-sweat _ .”

“No,” Isabelle replies sweetly. “And you should really stop referring to yourself in the third person. That’s how all good megalomaniacs get their start.”

“By definition, I don’t think that there’s such a thing as a good megalomaniac,” Alec contributes, but he’s thinking about how Isabelle, who is morally opposed to the concept of organisation, is letting Jace impose his anal system of cataloging upon her just to distract him from his nervousness. He’s thinking about her clinging to him on their way home from Magnus’s party, what feels like light years ago, sniffing wetly into his shoulder as she whispered,  _ “Magnus is nice, isn’t he? I thought-” _

And he wonders if she even knows what she’s doing. If it’s a deliberate sacrifice, or an instinctual one.

“What’s up?” Isabelle asks, bringing him back down to earth. “You look like you’ve just accidentally kicked a puppy, or something.”   
“Uh,” Alec says intelligently. “Nevermind. It’s not important.”   
“Huh,” Isabelle narrows her eyes. “You’re acting really-  _ Jace! _ ”

Jace is looking at the newly-mangled sleeve of one of Isabelle’s dresses in horror. “Please don’t kill me,” he says.

“Five,” Isabelle says evenly.

“What-”

“Four, she continues, sitting up.

Jace, in what is perhaps his most successful act of self-preservation to date, sprints out of the room and clatters down the stairs, in an incredibly desperate attempt to put as much space between himself and his sister as possible. Isabelle allows herself a self-satisfied smile, then focuses her attention on Alec. “As I was saying,” she says, casually, and with the kind of deliberate intent that Alec has grown to know and fear, “you’re acting very weird. Is there anything you need to tell me?”   
  
She’s talking about Magnus, he thinks, or maybe the odd way their father has been behaving towards him ever since Alec  _ very publicly  _ came out, but all Alec can think of is Simon Lewis telling him that perhaps Isabelle’s rebellious streak was for his sake all along. And the thing is, Alec never asked her to do that for him. He  _ wouldn’t  _ ever ask her to do that for him. And he’s not really sure why she  _ did,  _ anyway.

“It’s fine,” Alec says, and at Isabelle’s dubious expression, he doubles down. “Really, Iz. I’m going over to Magnus’s, but I’ll call you tonight, alright?”   
“Alright,” his sister says, still looking less than happy. “Have fun.”

Alec loves his sister, would jump in front of a bullet for her in a heartbeat, but he’s not sure he’ll ever understand her. Maybe he doesn’t need to, but he feels like he does, anyway. Isabelle has always been the one person in the world who is irrevocably on his side; doesn’t he owe her something for that?   
  
It’s a lot. He settles for an awkward hug instead, and says, “Thanks.”   
“No problem,” Isabelle whispers, even though she can’t possibly know what he’s thanking her for. “See you later.”


End file.
